


Good Girl

by KalikaBarlow



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Oral Sex, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalikaBarlow/pseuds/KalikaBarlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail wants something from her doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Girl

**Author's Note:**

> For Carmen (shartonnay)

“Daddy...”

The sensuous, red painted lips wrapped around his title like she was sucking on the sweetest thing imaginable, sending a shiver down the length of his spine that was difficult to conceal, even for him. How she’d crawled under his skin to curl up within him like a scaled demon, he had no idea. But, after a time, he’d decided that he didn’t really mind it.

He liked the company, if nothing else.

Abigail Hobbs was a mystery that Hannibal had had great pains over solving, and seducing. For a young woman in this society, she had a sharper mind than most and a penchant for manipulation that rivaled his own. Worst of all, she was well aware of how she affected him now. 

Predator becomes prey. Almost.

He looked up from his paperwork, an eyebrow raising as he took in the sight of his lover. With her hair piled on top of her head and jewels glittering at her throat, Abigail looked very much the part he wanted her to play. 

_Seductress, wanton mistress._

Her choice of gown accentuated her slender body, with just a hint of curve about her hips and the slight swell of her breasts. He liked how slim she was, how easily her white skin purpled and reddened beneath his amorous fingers, and most importantly, how much she enjoyed it. 

“Yes, Abigail?”

She sauntered into the study, biting her bottom lip as she approached. “I...need something.”

“You need something,” he repeated, fixing her with his usual smirk. “What on earth could a girl like you need, my dearest?”

Smiling that secret smile, Abigail walked around the desk and slipped into his lap, giving momentary lapse to the doctor’s mind. He could feel her heat against the expensive material clothing his legs and wondered for a moment if she’d bothered with undergarments. He’d known her not to in the past, which often lead to him quietly sliding his fingers between dampened folds of silken flesh until she was crying out against his palm while the oblivious public continued on with their daily lives around them, unaware of the two lovers hidden in the dark. 

“A new dress,” she said softly, tugging on his tie and licking her lips. “This one...is ripped.” With a cheeky grin, she grabbed the fabric that made up the plunging neckline of her gown and tore it down the middle to expose her upper body, her nipples hardening at the cold of the room.

Hannibal merely looked at her, raising a thoroughly unimpressed eyebrow at his bold little Abigail. That dress had been expensive, and she knew it. She also knew he didn’t particularly care for the destruction of such beauty, and that he’d likely make her suffer for it.

Which was her aim all along, he was sure.

“Oh. I see.” He leaned back in his armchair, avoiding eye contact by admiring her small, round breasts. He ran the tip of his finger from her collarbone to the middle of her breasts, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. “What’s to be done about that?”

Annoyed that she hadn’t gotten the reaction she wanted, Abigail pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Your fingers are cold.”

“Are they?” He lifted his eyes to her face, locking gazes while his other hand stole beneath the gauzy fabric to stroke between her thighs. Indeed, she hadn’t thought she’d be needing underwear for this little seduction. 

She’d been right. 

She made an involuntary little whimper of need when he touched her, sliding expert fingers to find just the right spots to tease her. He knew her well, inside and out. All the spots she liked, whether she wanted her clit flicked or sucked, if she wanted two fingers or four... He always knew. Just like he knew at this very moment that his gentle touches were driving her mad. 

And not in the way she’d planned. 

“Perhaps you’d permit me to warm them up in your pretty cunt?” She groaned at his use of the word, rocking her hips desperately into his exploring fingers. 

“Yes...yes, please...”

“Sit on the desk.”

She almost fell down in her attempt to comply, scrambling up onto the rosewood desk and spreading her legs wide without being asked. There was something perversely erotic about this, he reflected, eyes flickering between the glistening, swollen folds of his young lover and her fraught, wide-eyed expression. He could always reduce her to this, no matter how hard she tried to be the dominant one. Sometimes he let her believe. And other times, when she was inexcusably naughty... Her scent caught his nose, distracting him, and his nostrils flared, taking her in and holding her inside, enjoying the exquisite perfume that was uniquely Abigail Hobbs.

“Look at you,” he murmured, running a finger over her slit and slipping the very tip into her. “So...needy. So hot. I can taste you on the air, Miss Hobbs.”

She propped a high-heeled foot up on his shoulder, beckoning him further between her legs. “Please, Hannibal. You know...what I need. Please...”

“You destroyed that dress.” He spoke over her as though she hadn’t opened her mouth, withdrawing his fingers. “I liked that dress on you.”

She whimpered, blinking up at him.

“Why...should I reward you for such misbehaviour?”

Abigail groaned, bending her lower leg around the back of his head and drawing him closer, refusing to give up. 

“Please...”

“Please, what?” He asked, breathing hot air onto her clit and grinning when he saw her twitch. 

“Please, _eat me_.”

His mind flew suddenly to the late Miriam Lass, and how she’d begged him not to do just that. _Don’t kill me. Don’t eat me, please!_ With a low growl, he dipped his head and Abigail screamed, wrapping her thighs around his head to the point of near suffocation as he devoured her most exquisitely flavoured flesh with abandon. 

He loved it. 

Afterward, Abigail lay sprawled spread-eagled over his desk, the ruined dress pushed up under her breasts and her inner thighs glistening with a combination of her own juices and Hannibal’s saliva, sucking smoke through her _quellazaire_ and exhaling through her nostrils, intensifying the relaxation she felt in the aftermath of her earth-shattering orgasm.  
“Happy now, my dearest?” Hannibal walked back into the office, combing his hair neatly back into place, smiling as he saw she hadn’t moved from the position he’d left her in. 

Abigail chuckled, tilting her head back to look at him.  
“No. My dress is still ruined and I’d still like a new one. Please,” she amended quickly. 

Hannibal just smiled, settling into his wing-backed armchair nearest to the fire. “Get on your knees and ask me that again. Perhaps I’ll...consider it. If you’re a good girl.”

Abigail grinned and slid off the desk and onto her hands and knees, crawling across the floor to him. She loved being bad. 

But being good had its benefits too, where her doctor was concerned.


End file.
